


Gone

by TriDom



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Chris and Peter did not kidnap Stiles, M/M, Mentions of sex trafficking, Past Kidnapping, Past Sexual Abuse, Past Underage Sexual Abuse, Sheriff Stilinski's Name is John, Some graphic depictions of abuse, Stetopher Week 2019, Stilinski Family Feels
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-26
Updated: 2019-11-06
Packaged: 2021-01-03 13:58:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21180587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TriDom/pseuds/TriDom
Summary: When Stiles was eight years old, he was abducted five minutes from his home. Fourteen years later, Peter Hale buys a smart mouthed twenty-two year old from a perspective business client. Peter doesn't need to pay for sex. He has a gorgeous husband, but that gorgeous husband does have a soft spot for a pet project, which is how Stiles ends up in their home and eventually in their marriage for over five years.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Read the tags, guys. 
> 
> Cover some things real quick, Stiles is 27 when this starts. He's been with Chris and Peter for 5 years. During that time, Stiles will not give up his last name. He has his reasons. 
> 
> Second thing, I know John doesn't have brown eyes or moles, but he has them in this. I wanted him and Stiles to look more similar.

He liked the air where he was.

The lake at the edge of town that stretched for miles and miles infused the entire area. In the early morning, the town was almost always covered in thin fog. That's when the town was most dormant, like it had gone into its nightly hibernation. That's when he liked to walk his dog. Max panted at his side and it was the only noise in an area that could be the setting of a Nicholas Sparks's novel or a Stephen King depending on the lighting. 

Time was ticking down on those perfect quiet hours though. A steadier stream of cars were passing on main street as shops around them opened.   
  
Stiles was nearly to the cafe by Chris’s office when he passed an alley and heard a boom. He jerked and Max pressed against his legs. It lasted less than a second, but Stiles’s mouth was dry and his heart was hammering as he stared down the dim alley.   
  
It was just a dumpster closing. A worker was going back into the bakery beside it, wiping his hands on the apron. Stiles’s own hands were sweating.

A woman walked by him and stared. Stiles scratched Max’s head and waited for her to pass. When his heart rate was slowing, he went on to the cafe that had only opened a few minutes before. The girl behind the counter barely looked at Max, but she smiled at both of them.   
  
“Hi,” she said.   
  
“Hey,” he said.   
  
“The usual?”   
  
Stiles shook his head. “Just an Americano.”   
  
“I’ll bring it to your table,” she said, smiling again as she walked away from the register.   
  
Stiles didn’t go to his normal table. He went farther into the cafe and sat at a table facing the door. Two old men were already there. They looked at Max off and on, but mostly talked about something political. Max laid at his feet, his large dark ears perked as he watched the door. He loved Max, but he hated that having him made people look at him. He didn't want to have a usual or a regular table. He just wanted to blend. 

Stiles took out his key chain with a small metal cylinder. He took a small piece of a pill out and chewed it. It was pure bitterness. Then Max’s tail thumped against his chair. Stiles looked toward the door and saw Chris coming toward them after ordering at the counter.   
  
“Go,” Stiles said.

Max got up and wiggled like the four year old shepherd he was. Chris petted him for a moment before he sat down.   
  
“Work, buddy,” Stiles said.   
  
Max licked Chris’s hand one more time before he settled back by Stiles’s feet, staring at the door again.   
  
“How was your walk?”   
  
“I dropped off the paperwork in the mail to get him accepted into those GED courses,” he said.   
  
“Good,” Chris said. “I don't think they'll give you any trouble."   
  
“They can’t refuse a service dog,” Stiles said, smiling slightly.   
  
Chris laughed slightly. They didn't know how Peter got the documentation that they needed, but he had. They didn't ask a lot of questions about what Peter did, because Peter liked to give answers and they really didn't enjoy hearing it most of the time. All Stiles cared about is that Max got to come to class with him. Peter had also gotten him a social security number, changed his last name to Hale, and all kinds of other things that Stiles could never repay him for. Let alone the fact that he lived in Chris and Peter's massive beautiful house with them and they'd even let him into their marriage like he was worth being a partner.   
  
"What are the plans for today?" Chris asked.   
  
"I don't know. How many appointments do you have?"   
  
"Just three. I'll be home by noon."   
  
Then the barista came over and put Stiles's order in front of him, then Chris's. They thanked her and Stiles picked at the half of Chris's danish he'd ordered.   
  
"Have you heard from Peter?" Stiles asked.   
  
Chis shook his head. "The last text he sent was hours after we went to sleep. I'm sure he's still in bed."   
  
"When does his flight get in?"   
  
"I'm not sure. Sometime on Friday."   
  
"Sweet," he said.   
  
Stiles checked the time on his phone and his chest tightened. It was almost time for Chris to go into the office. Chris glanced at it and stretched in his chair.   
  
"I need to get going," he said. "Do you want me to walk you to your car?"   
  
"No I'm fine," Stiles said, even though he'd love Chris to walk him to his car, but it was in the opposite direction of his office. He should've just parked in front of it and walked a different route to the mailbox. But he had Max. He was fine.   
  
"Let me know when you get home," Chris said, standing up then coming around to kiss him.   
  
"Okay."   
  
"See you in a few hours," Chris said, kissing him again before leaving the cafe.   
  
Stiles gave Max the last of the danish and played on his phone for another ten minutes. When there was decent traffic coming into the cafe, he left. There weren't a lot of people on the sidewalks still, but there were enough for him to feel more comfortable as he walked with Max to his SUV parked a few blocks away.   
  
When they were driving out of town, the sharp pain in his chest lessened. As he pulled into the driveway of the house he shared with Chris and Peter, the pain was barely there. Another tiny chunk of a bitter pill would kill it completely.   
  
  
  
  
  
  
It was just after one in the afternoon when Chris walked in the door from the garage. The kitchen smelled of faint bleach and the appliances were shinning. The cleaning services wasn't scheduled for today. Chris dropped his keys on the counter and went into the living room with the bag of lunch he'd picked up from his and Stiles's favorite sandwich place. Stiles was asleep on the couch with Max. Max looked at Chris with his head resting on Stiles's shoulder. His tail barely wagged, but he didn't move.   
  
Chris went to the other side of the living room before he started to crinkle the paper bag enough to wake Stiles up. He pulled out their food and organized it on the table before he looked back at Stiles. His eyes were open, but he looked exhausted.   
  
"Do you want me to put yours in the fridge?"   
  
Stiles shook his head and sat up, rubbing his eyes. He looked like such a little kid when he did that. Max didn't get up, he just contorted himself around Stiles like a boa with his body in a C behind him. Stiles put his face against Max's head and the shepherd licked him with his tail thumping the couch.   
  
That was exactly why Peter had dropped $85,000 for him instead of $20,000 on a dog that was less bullet proof. Anyone who met Max in their home and seen how he interacted would think he was nothing more than the sweetest therapy dog. If they tried to hurt Stiles, they would realize how wrong they were.   
  
Chris wasn't sure what had happened that morning, but when he'd met Stiles at the cafe, his face was pale. It was codependent how much he monitored Stiles. He knew that and he didn't care. He could read Stiles in a heartbeat after the last five years. Most of the time asking what had triggered an anxiety or panic attack didn't help, though. It just embarrassed Stiles that he was still effected so easily.   
  
Chris turned on the TV to fill the silence as he ate and Stiles picked at his own food.   
  
He would have to make something for dinner that would finally get him to eat. Homemade chicken strips were usually the trick for that. After Stiles finished eating, Chris picked up their containers, Stiles's was still mostly whole, and put them away. He checked the fridge to make sure they had everything he needed to cook that night. When he went back into the living room, he sat on the couch with Stiles and pulled him back against him. Stiles rolled over so they were chest to chest and went limp against him.   
  
Within an hour, Stiles was sitting up and playing an online game with some friends he'd made over the years. He slowly started to talk more about what was on TV, asking Chris about his day, and showing him things he found on his phone. It only took about twelve hours for Stiles to get back to normal. That was progress Chris would take.   
  
  


  
  
  
  
That night, Stiles went to bed right after stuffing himself on the dinner he helped Chris make and clean up after. Like usual, Chris had laid in bed with him, but with his laptop to finish some of his work. Stiles had fallen asleep almost as soon as he laid down. He had been fucking exhausted since the walk that morning and the loud bang that shouldn't effect him that way after this much time in near domestic bliss.   
  
Apparently that wasn't how his fucking brain worked though, because he jerked awake covered in sweat after what felt like seconds of being asleep. Chris was sitting up in bed beside him with his laptop glowing on his face. His hand was on Stiles's shoulder. Stiles reached for Peter on the other side, but all he felt was cold sheets in the over-sized bed. There was a slight bump as Max jumped on the bed, laying with his long nose in Stiles's face. Peter would love the shepherd hairs on his pillow.   
  
"Are you okay?" Chris asked.   
  
"Just a nightmare," Stiles said.   
  
He didn't know if it was nightmare or a flashback if it was a memory. He didn't care to ask Chris, who would know, but he'd give him that look, that pathetic look like he felt so sorry for him. Besides, Chris already knew what the nightmares were about. There was no need to talk about it. Talking never made it easier. He heard shifting as Chris dug in his bedside table before he put something cool into Stiles's hand.   
  
"Take that," he said.   
  
Stiles put the gummy in his mouth and tried to breathe the way Chris had taught him starting years ago. He hated the taste of the gummy, but it made the nightmares stop. He didn't dream anything.   
  
He wished Peter was there. It was fucked up, but he couldn't stand Chris touching him after a nightmare, but he could huddle against Peter, tucked under his chin. Peter was leaner than Chris. He usually didn't wear cologne and he just smelled like warm skin. Peter never tried anything when he cuddled up to him that way. Which was saying a lot, because Peter could get a hard-on at the drop of a hat, but he never did with Stiles when he was like that. The one time Stiles told him that he felt like his dad after a full blown break down, Peter had only teased him a little before promising he wouldn't tell anyone. Not even Chris.   
  
Chris didn't say anything else, but he sat with him for a long time. He'd been listening to something when Stiles woke up, but now his computer was silent. He knew without looking that Chris was keeping an eye on him.   
  
"Can you put on a show or something on your computer?" Stiles asked without rolling away from Max. "I can't stop thinking."   
  
"Sure," Chris said.   
  
A few seconds later, a sitcom they watched together all the time played. It was just the audio, but it was enough to ease the flashbacks that kept lingering. He could feel when the gummy kicked in. His body felt heavy. The feeling of being drugged should freak him out, ,but that was the only way he ever felt okay before his life with Chris and Peter. At least when he was drugged he didn't really mind what was happening to him. It made his body relax.   
  
As he fell asleep, he had a moment of panic, afraid that another nightmare would seep in. It didn't matter in the end, because he did fall back asleep to the feeling of Max's warm fur under his hands and the familiar cast of characters rumbling behind him from Chris's computer.   
  


  
  
  
It had taken awhile for Stiles to fall asleep after his night terror. Chris didn't know if his nightmares were that or if they were memories. It didn't matter when it came down to it. There was no doubt that the things in his dreams were twisted enough to fuck up the sanest of people. Chris had sat up beside him an hour after his breathing deepened before he went into his office to type some of his patient paperwork that needed to be done.   
  
It was nearly two in the morning, when Chris's phone vibrated beside his computer in the office. He slid it to answer at Peter's name on the screen.   
  
"Hey."   
  
"Hello, gorgeous," Peter said.   
  
"You're drunk."   
  
"You're right," Peter said.   
  
Chris smiled slightly as he clicked off the notes he'd been typing into his program . "What are you doing?"   
  
"I just got back to my hotel. I had to go out for drinks with some of the investors."   
  
"Did you have a good time?"   
  
"Decent. They're not nearly as entertaining as Stiles when they drink."   
  
"Who is?"   
  
"So true," Peter said. "Is he still awake? I texted him, but he ignored it."   
  
"Yeah he's been out since nine."   
  
"Why?"   
  
"I don't know. He was off today."   
  
"Poor broken toy."   
  
"Peter."   
  
Peter snorted. "Don't be so sensitive."   
  
Chris ignored Peter as he went on YouTube. It had been awhile since he'd tried to look through missing persons cases that a handful of YouTube channels covered. He kept up with America's Most Wanted when it was on, but it wasn't the easiest thing to do with Stiles's attached at the hip most of the time. If Stiles knew he was trying to dig up his history that he refused to share, Chris wasn't sure what he would do.   
  
Peter was talking, but Chris wasn't listening as he scanned through the thumbnails. Most of them he'd watched. Their names ran together, which was depressing in and of itself. Someone somewhere cared as much about that name as he did Stiles's.   
  
"Hello?"   
  
"Sorry," Chris said.   
  
"What are you doing?" Peter asked.   
  
"I'm on YouTube," he said.   
  
"Boring. Fine if you won't talk to me I'm going to jack off and go to sleep."   
  
Chris laughed slightly. "Pitiful."   
  
"It is. You should talk me through it."   
  
"I think you can take care of yourself," Chris said.   
  
"Stiles would talk me through it."   
  
"That's tragic," Chris said. "I'll talk to you tomorrow. Love you."   
  
"I love you too, you cold-hearted man."   
  
Chris told him goodnight and ended the call before flicking through the videos. He had done a mini-dive like this a few weeks ago, but he hadn't caught up on everything. But every time he went on there to look there was a small voice in the back of his head saying this was the time he would find something. This time he would find something about Stiles that major media wasn't covering anymore.   
  
He watched a few videos from across the country. He was four in when he saw a new face suggested on the side. He clicked on the thumbnail of a gray-haired man.   
  
_My Missing Person - Cyryl Stilinski_  
  
In the video, a man a few years older than Chris was sitting in front of a plain wall. It looked like he was in a hotel or something. It was very bland. Behind him on a table was a picture frame with the man and a young boy in it.   
  
"Most of you might know me, if you're new, welcome to my channel," he said. "My name is John Stilinski. I'm a former sheriff of over fifteen years. Since I left law enforcement I've moved on to helping families with missing person's cases. After being told I should start a channel for getting names out, I finally did. Like I say on all my videos, I started doing this, because I lost my son, Cyryl Stilinski when he was eight years old. He was kidnapped a half block from our home in the town that I was sheriff of."   
  
Then he twisted to pick up the frame and held the photo up to the camera. John was holding a boy with one arm. The boy had a beautiful smile that screamed trouble. There were dimples, dark eyes, and moles on his small face. Chris's heart pounded harder as his eyes started to burn. It felt like the one time he and Peter had hiked a taller mountain in their twenties. There wasn't enough oxygen.   
  
"This is the last picture I have with Stiles."   
  
Chris immediately clicked share and sent it to Peter as he continued to watch.   
  
_I found him. _  
  
"I've covered his case some since I started this, but I haven't gone in depth. Enough of you have asked that it would be weirder to not cover it than to do it. Bare with me. I don't tell this story a lot-," John said, then he cleared his throat. "Like I said, I was a sheriff at the time that Stiles went missing. We lived in Beacon Hills, which is a very small town. His mother and I moved there when we decided to have a family. His mom died when Stiles was five, but we managed. It wasn't easy, but it made us very close-." John's eyes suddenly filled with water and he looked away from the camera. A curse word was edited out before he looked at the ceiling and cleared his throat again. "This video isn't going to be long, because I can't manage that."   
  
John shifted in his chair and rubbed the back of his own neck. He had dark eyes. They were as dark as Stiles's. His hair had probably been brown before it went gray.   
  
"Since I worked so many hours, I had an arrangement with Stiles's best friend's mom, Melissa McCall. She was a single mother and an RN, so I helped her. She helped me. The night that Stiles went missing, he and his friend, Scott, had walked to Melissa's house. She'd called me to let me know they got there safely. She only lived two blocks from their elementary school. He ate dinner with them and I called Melissa when I was about to leave the police station. That was normal. I'd call her and Stiles would head home on his bike to our house only a few blocks away.   
  
"I've had people ask me how I let this happen when I was a sheriff, and this is all I can say for myself," John said. "The streets were well lit, it was summer, the sun hadn't gone down completely, we only lived a few blocks apart, and I was the sheriff. Everyone knew he was my son. But I was naive and I regret it every day. Let people call you overprotective. Let them make fun of you for keeping too close of an eye on your child, because you never want to know that your kid went missing because you didn't do your job."   
  
Chris's throat throbbed before his eyes started to burn.   
  
"I'm getting side tracked," John said, wiping his face. "Anyway, I drove the fifteen minutes home and as I was turning onto our street, I saw his bike on the sidewalk. It had just turned dark and the reflector on the peddle caught my eye. I immediately got out of the car and started to look for him. I checked our house, I called Melissa, I knocked on all the neighbor's doors, then I called in a missing person's alert. Let me be clear on something here, there is no time frame to file a missing person's report," he said. "They can be missing for five minutes and you can call it in. Never let an officer tell you that you can't or shouldn't file a report. Its law enforcement's job to do that.  
  
"Anyway," he said again. It hit Chris in the chest, because Stiles said it constantly. "My officers were scouring the area within an hour of Stiles leaving Melissa's house. His bicycle was taken into evidence. A neighbor said she'd heard a car take off quickly, but all she saw was that it was gray or black, but like I said, it was getting dark. Unfortunately, an hour doesn't seem like a long time, but it is for someone with an unidentified vehicle, and multiple highway accesses. We treated this as a kidnapping from the beginning and that still wasn't enough."   
  
Chris listened to John describe the recovery efforts they had gone through, the hundreds of leads that were called in over the next few weeks. Then he talked about going onto America's Most Wanted. Chris listened to him talk about the process before John hunched forward again and took a deep breath. He heard peoples' misery for a living and John's was still palpable through a computer screen.   
  
"Stiles was twelve when I was asked onto America's Most Wanted. I begged for any information about him from the audience and," he said, squeezing the bridge of his nose with his eyes closed. "I got it. A few weeks after, I was sent a picture of my son naked. He had bruises and had obviously been sexually abused. No DNA was on the envelope. No fingerprints, no return address. Someone had written, "Happy?" on the back of the picture. We ran so many tests on it and nothing could be done with it.  
  
"That's when I stopped trying to go on national media about Stiles's story. I knew he was alive and that had to be enough. I wasn't willing to cause him to be more abused, because I went on another show. Maybe that was a mistake. Maybe if I had continued to do them, maybe he would've been home. I don't know," he said, then he shook his head. "Anyway, that's all I have. My son was kidnapped, most likely put into sex trafficking, and there's a very good chance that he's still alive. He would be twenty-seven now. Here is an aged progressed photo."   
  
Then the screen was filled with an image that looked something like Stiles, but not close enough. He didn't know if anyone would have recognized him from it, but Chris knew what he was looking for. Mostly he could see Stiles in John's posture, the color of their eyes, the few moles that John had on his face.   
  
"Please, if you have any information on Stiles, report it to the number in description. Thanks for listening. Next week I'll be back with a more put together video," he said, then the camera clicked off.   
  
Chris clicked the description box and saw the number. It was nearly two in the morning, but he didn't think that mattered as he dialed the tip line. It rang a few times before it went to a voicemail box with. 

“Cyryl Stilinski is in Sand Lake, California," he said. "I'm a psychologist in the area and would love to speak to you in person."   
  
Chris read off his office address before hanging up. His mouth was dry. 


	2. Chapter 2

When Peter opened the garage door, he heard the scrape of pans and cast iron. Music was playing from the speaker above the door. Stiles obviously had control of that by the genre. He had already taken off his coat and hung it on the hook when Max skidded around the corner. His large ears were perked and he started to bark before he darted toward Peter.

"What a waste of money you were," Peter said, leaning down to kiss his flat head. "I've been in the house at least two minutes," he said as he came from the mudroom and into the kitchen.

Stiles was playing with his phone, but glanced up when Peter came in. Chris was at the stove and looked up. The hood vent was humming loudly. By their expressions, neither of them had heard him. Stiles slid off his bar stool and hugged him.

"I missed you," Peter said, kissing the side of his face.

"You too," Stiles said.

As soon as he pulled away, Chris hugged and kissed him after stepping away from the stove, but he went right back.

"How was the flight?" Chris asked.

"They need a new plane. That one is so drab," Peter said, smelling garlic and onion as the skillet Chris was working with sizzled.

He took down a wine glass near Chris, with his back to Stiles, and they made brief eye contact. Twenty years together meant they only needed a handful of seconds to communicate. They needed to talk. Undoubtedly about the video and Chris's call to the tip-line.

"Wow, that's terrible," Stiles said.

"I know," Peter said, ignoring Stiles's sarcasm as he poured himself some wine from the bottle Chris already opened. "What's for dinner?"

"Pork chops," Chris said.

"Smothered," Stiles added.

"Thanks, love," he said, leaning on the island toward Stiles. "How was your week?"

"How are my weeks usually? Boring."

"Lies," Peter said. "We need to play online tonight."

"Sure," Stiles said, but he smiled and Stiles's honest smiles never ceased to make him feel special, like the love from taming a feral dog. "Or tomorrow, because I don't really want to fuck around on my computer tonight."

"You're going to make me blush."

"I don't think Satan can blush."

Chris snorted where he was at the fridge. Peter ignored him and took another sip of wine.

"By the way, while I was in the city I met with Alan Carter," Peter said.

"How is he?" Chris asked.

"Terrible. His wife found out about his Dick Tracey life-style, so now he is paying her a healthy alimony."

"Good for her."

"To be fair, I don't think he was the only one with fingers in other peoples' pots," Peter said. "Anyway, it does mean that he's open to any work that pays well. As it happens, I think we have a wonderful case for-"

"Oh my God," Stiles groaned.

He didn't have to look at Chris to know he was glaring at him. But he would like to know exactly how badly this could blow up in their faces before it did. 

"Sweet boy, light of my life," Peter said, edging around the island toward him. Stiles rolled his eyes.

"Go away," Stiles said.

"No."

"Seriously-"

"Why exactly haven't you give up your last name?"

"Oh my god, Peter," Stiles said again.

"I'm serious, Stiles, or as serious as you want me to be, that it would be nice to finally be able to find your father," he said. "Alan is the best PI I know and his case load has never been this available."

"Why do you care?" Stiles asked. "Are you trying to dump me off?"

"Yes, and after we give away our five years of hard work and patience like the saints we are, we'd like to know your father. It would be a bonus that he'd get to find out you aren't locked in a shed somewhere being molested by someone's bloodhound."

"Jesus," Chris said. 

But Stiles didn't flinch. Sometimes Chris seemed to forget that Stiles was raised around the dregs of humanity. Sometimes it was more fun to laugh about that than cry about it. Most of the time actually. 

"Yeah, because having me is such a walk in the park that you'd recommend someone else do it to?"

"Even with your angst you're only twice as bad as Chris and you're half his age, so," Peter said.

Stiles finally smiled before he drug his hand down his face.

"He's better off," Stiles said. "It's not like I'm the little kid he remembers."

"I'm sure he probably knows that, since you won't give us your last name, so you must know that if we had it you'd be easy to find.... almost like you think someone hasn't stopped looking for you. Since the only person I ever really hear you mention from before is your dad my money is on him."

Stiles stared at Peter before he leaned back. "Fuck off."

Peter started to then he looped around the island and squeezed Stiles's neck from behind, kissing his face. "You're wonderful," he said only loud enough for Stiles to hear. "Your dad would think the same thing." 

Stiles leaned back against his chest and Peter put his arms around him. 

"Leave me alone, I don't feel good," he said. 

"What's wrong?" Peter asked, rubbing his pebbled skin. 

"I don't know. My head and throat hurts." 

"I'm sorry," Peter said, kissing his hair. "Tea?" 

"No I'm fine," Stiles said, sitting upright again. 

Peter ignored him and went to the cabinet where he kept his collection of blends. Occasionally he felt Chris stare at him, but he ignored it. When half an hour had passed, Chris was talking to him again. His irritation was always fleeting. 

  
  
  


A few hours later, Stiles was on his back in bed. He could taste whiskey and orange from Peter's mouth before he took Chris's dick to the root while Peter fucked him. He only choked himself for a half second before Chris pulled back. Stiles shifted, sucking Chris deeper again. When Peter hit his prostate just right, he groaned and Chris tightened his fingers in his hair. He never pulled it like Peter did though. He got too caught up in his head, all the books he read, and the little seminars he'd gone to about sexual PTSD.

Sometimes Stiles just wanted to be railroaded.

Peter bit the side of his throat and Stiles groaned again, digging the nails of his right hand into Peter's back. Peter sucked hard on his neck and it hurt. It throbbed up into his jaw and it made his dick leak. Peter pulled off before it bruised and Stiles whined.

"Was Chris not taking good care of you, sweetheart?" Peter asked, fucking as deep into him as he could and staying there.

"He eats me out better than you," Stiles said, pulling off of Chris enough to talk.

Chris huffed a laugh and let Stiles take him deep again. He stopped pulling away when Stiles cut off his own air flow on his cock. He liked the feeling and when Chris pulled back it just made him think about why and that was too fucked of a path to think about while he was getting plowed. He was trying to enjoy himself, not psychoanalyze himself to death.

And Peter knew it.

Which was why he fucking loved Peter. He could be mushy like Chris, not as good, but he could do it if Stiles wanted it. But he was best at a good mindless fuck. Nothing was mindless with Chris. Chris was focused on making sure he was okay at every fucking moment of sex. He'd gotten better over the last three years. Mostly Stiles had just figured out that he was never going to be okay when it came to sex. He liked it. It was good. He wanted to do it. He'd liked a lot of the shit people had done to him over the years and if he thought about that for too long then he felt disgusting.

Stiles took Chris down again then gagged. He pulled off and coughed hard. It hit something in the back of his throat where it was just barely raw. He rolled to his side and couldn't stop coughing. His skin felt too hot. The panic of choking was still so innate. It didn't matter how many times it happened his heart still raced, he started sweating, and was trying not to vomit. 

Peter stopped fucking him, which still felt weird. Coughing didn't usually make people stop. They usually got off on it. Even the nicest of sick fucks had gotten off hard on making him struggle. 

Chris got out of bed and the bathroom light turned on. Peter patted his back and asked if he was okay. It wasn't like he could answer though. And he was fine. He would be fine, but the fit just needed to pass. Then Chris was back, pushing a glass of warm water into his hand. Stiles forced some of it down and took a deep breath, coughing again, before drinking to make the catch leave. His throat ached. He always forgot that Chris was thicker than Peter. 

"I'm good," Stiles croaked.

Chris brushed his palm against his forehead. He was frowning. 

"I'm okay," Stiles said, pushing him away gently. "We can keep going." 

Peter slid his hand down Stiles's side and touched his limp dick. "Mm, this says otherwise." 

"I was busy trying not to cough up my lung," Stiles said. 

"Chris's boner was a casualty as well," Peter said, but he nuzzled Stiles's ear from behind. 

Stiles snorted slightly before Chris kissed him. 

"Need more water?" 

"No," Stiles said. "Thanks." 

Chris shook his head and kissed Stiles again. 

Stiles laid down against his pillow and closed his eyes. His headache was back, like dick was only a good cure if it was in his mouth. His throat was aching again. Chris ran his fingers through his hair and he felt Peter moving behind him, undoubtedly grabbing his phone to do something with someone for whatever reason. 

A year ago, something like this would've thrown him into an episode. He still needed to focus on Chris's fingers to not spiral, but between their warmth and the sweet touches, it was hard to fly off the handle. They weren't going to kick him out because he wasn't doing his job. This wasn't his job. They didn't bring him into their life to perform a service. They loved him. 

It still felt like they'd get sick of him. A small pit at the bottom of his stomach said his time was limited. He didn't know which version was true, but he could only deal with it day by day. That was the only way to see. 

Soon the wine he drank at dinner and the winding down adrenaline hit him. He barely remembered Chris giving him his sleeping pill before he was passed out against him. 

  
  


After Stiles went to sleep, Peter got up with Chris and went downstairs and through the hall to the back porch. The moon was full and beating down on the lake stretching out past their yard. It looked like it was being sprinkled with salt. The guest house against the redwoods looked like a dollhouse in the blue lighting. The breeze was just cool enough to dig through his thin sleep pants. It was a rude awakening after the warmth of their bed. But after Stiles took his sleep medication was the only time that he and Chris could talk and know that Stiles wouldn't walk out on them.

"So you spoke to the dad today," Peter said.

"Mhm."

"When will he be here?"

"In two days."

"How does he seem on the phone?"

"Like a frustrated man whose faking being friendly, because he thinks it'll get him farther."

"Did you tell him about how we knew him?"

"I told him Stiles was a patient of mine."

Peter stared at the wood of the porch. He wanted to believe that this man wanted Stiles back, because he loved him. But if he found out that it was Peter who bought him out of slavery without knowing the full story, they could be in trouble. If John Stilinski didn't understand the situation completely, he could do a lot of damage before he saw the full picture.

"I had to call him, Peter," Chris said, looking at Peter in the most earnest way. He could crush Chris in those sweet open moments if he wanted to, but like Stiles, Chris was one of those few people that he never wanted to hurt.

"I know you did," Peter said. "He just has to know that Stiles is okay and that we've loved him and helped him in anyway we've possibly thought could help," Peter said. "This is why you don't help people," he said. "It always comes back to haunt you."

Chris laughed. The laugh that meant he thought Peter was being melodramatic, which Peter was very aware of already.

"You'd do it all again."

"Maybe."

"A hundred times."

"I would hope it wouldn't take me that long to figure it out."

Chris smiled again and hugged him. He was like hugging a grizzly bear. "It's going to be okay," he said. "You saw the videos. He seems like a good man. I wouldn't have called him if I thought otherwise." Chris asked. "The conferences, billboards-"

"Newspapers," Peter said. "I found the Facebook group for him."

"He loves his son."

"He does, but he needs to be willing to love Stiles. We do, but we're fucked up and we are all aware of it. We like him depending on us and we like the fact that he sleeps with us. Daddies with rewards."

"Really?" Chris deadpanned.

"Yes. He has to be okay with the fact that this is our family. Stiles is part of our existence now. He can't be taken away. We may not be the healthiest dynamic, but we're the healthiest dynamic Stiles will ever have with another person romantically."

"I don't think Stiles would leave."

"Oh no it would be trips at first. Going to see his dad for the week, then a few weeks, then a month, and then he'd call and give us our Dear Johns."

"Dramatic," Chris said, tugging him against himself. "He's not going to try and steal Stiles. We'll just need to share."

"I'm not good at sharing."

"You're good at sharing Stiles with me," Chris said, kissing Peter's neck.

"Because he'd leave me for you if I put any pressure on him."

Chris laughed before digging his fingers into Peter's ribs. Peter jerked before trying to pull away. "So you'd leave me high and dry if he'd let you?"

"He has fewer miles, sweetheart. I'm sorry."

Chris tugged him closer and started to dig his fingers again making Peter laugh before he shoved his hand away. "Is Stiles going to fuck you like I do?" he asked in the voice that made tingles shoot down Peter's spine. "Is Stiles going to turn you into putty?"

Peter tried to kiss him and Chris leaned back. He slid his hand down to cup Peter's slight hard on.

"Is it funny to taunt one of your husbands with the other?" he asked.

Peter started to joke and Chris slightly squeezed. Peter was not proud of how much harder he got even though it pulsed pain into his lower stomach.

"Is it nice, Peter?"

Peter clenched his eyes when Chris gave a slight squeeze again. "No it's not."

"We both do very nice things for you, don't we?"

"Mhm."

"I'm sorry?"

"Yes," Peter said.

"Good boy," Chris said, before he kissed him then dropped his hand. "It's cold. I'm going back to bed."

"I knew you were going to do that, you prick," Peter said following him inside.

Chris laughed quietly in the dark of their house before they went up the stairs and back to the bed where their other part slept.

Peter laid in his normal spot on Stiles's right side and Chris slept on the left. It wasn't long before Chris was asleep. Peter could most likely do the same thing if he closed his eyes, but he didn't want to. For the last week he had stared up at the bland ceilings of hotel rooms. The ceiling of their bedroom was inset and intricate. Peter followed the lines of it with the glow of the moon bleeding through the slated blinds. He would need to close them before he fell asleep. Just because Chris liked to rise with the sun didn't mean the rest of them did.

As he traced the engravings, his mind defaulted to its current hang-up. The video of John Stilinski talking about his son. Seeing the man that was shadowy in Stiles's life. He was only mentioned a handful of times over the last five years and every time Stiles was either drunk or distressed. Most of the time both.

He was more fit than Peter had imagined. He didn't know why he'd imagined Stiles's dad to be some potato of a man given how Stiles looked, but many beautiful people had been born from mediocrity. But John was handsome. Seeing the blueprints for so much of Stiles's features in him was jarring.

Hearing that he had been a sheriff had nearly made Peter vomit.

He had pulled out the small waste bin beside the hotel bed and breathed in lungfuls of stale hotel air.

He was the one who noticed the aversion to police officers. He was the one who was stupid enough to get Stiles drunk enough to talk about it. Chris had been interested as well. Neither of them had been prepared to listen to Stiles describe how he had almost gotten out of slavery three weeks after he was taken. The kind cop that had sensed something off about how desperately Stiles had stared at him while he was being escorted to a hotel for a pedophile. The policeman had even gone as far as to stop the pair of them and ask Stiles if he was okay. Drunken adult Stiles had laughed when he told the story. It was the most bitter sound Peter had ever heard in his life. Because the cop hadn't helped. He had seemed suspicious of his answers, but had let them continue into the hotel when the man said he was Stiles's uncle.

Three days later, Stiles was in his bedroom at the home where he was kept when he wasn't being prostituted and his captor of the time had brought in a police officer. Peter had wanted to tell Stiles to stop. They understood where it was going, but Stiles wasn't even focusing on their faces. He was taking large drinks of whiskey and talking in a flat tone. For one of the only times, Peter felt guilt.

Stiles told them how he'd been excited at first. A police officer was there. A man in a tan uniform. He lingered on the fact that the uniform was tan and not black. The man selling Stiles had made the deal in the room with him. He gave the police officer a discount and then he left Stiles alone with him. Stiles had tried to tell him his name , but he only did what he paid to. He wasn't the first of them and he was far from the last until Stiles avoided eye contact with anyone in a uniform. Two decades later, he still did. 

The story had hurt before, when Peter rarely felt pain for anyone's stories. When John Stilinski said that he was a sheriff, that pain had intensified. They had taken a child's hero and destroyed it.

Peter looked toward Stiles. He was sleeping, facing him. Peter took his hand and gently pulled. Stiles barely opened his eyes before he moved toward him. Peter took him into his arms so Stiles could rest against his shoulder. He would be sore in the morning, but that was hardly of consequence as Stiles's soft breath ghosted his chest.

It had taken longer than it should have, so much longer, but Stiles was free and Stiles had a good life. And soon Stiles would have his father back as well.

Peter kissed Stiles's soft thick hair and laid sleepless for awhile longer.

  
  
  
  


His throat was killing him. 

It hadn't come out of nowhere. He should've gone out earlier to get some medicine, but he didn't. He was stupid and he had waited until after he and Peter played their video game for way too long online to try and go to the store. It was almost midnight and Chris wasn't having it. He acted like he was just about to go out, like Stiles hadn't seen him about to fall asleep in their bed beside him and Peter running dungeons on their laptops. 

Stiles stared at in-cap of the small 24-hour pharmacy stacked with Halloween candy while Chris grabbed the cough drops he'd forgotten. At least he'd grabbed the right cold medicine. The bell at the front of the store rung and Stiles glanced up. He and Chris hadn't seen anyone but employees in the store. The man who came in had short gray hair and was around six foot tall. He was average in almost everything and Stiles couldn’t stop staring.

The man was looking down at his phone as he came toward him before he finally glanced up at one of the aisles and Stiles saw his face.

“Dad?”

The man’s head jerked around to him. It didn’t feel like Stiles’s heart was beating. It had to have stopped, because his chest was killing him. All the air was gone. His vision blurred at the edges as a pathetic broken noise came out of his own mouth.

“Stiles?” his dad asked, his eyes watering as he shook his head. “No-”

Stiles slammed into him, hugging him like he could claw his way inside of him. His dad squeezed him so tightly it hurt and it wasn’t enough as he choked on another sob.

He smelled the same. He felt so much smaller than Stiles remembered. He could still remember the most popular picture of him on the missing posters. His dad holding him on his hip and he was almost too big for it, but you couldn’t see that in the picture. You could just see his dad’s face beaming at him and Stiles smiling at the camera as his best friend’s mom took the picture. Two weeks before he was kidnapped.

His dad kissed his face. His cheek then his temple and forehead without even pulling away.

“I’m so sorry,” his dad said. “I’m so so sorry, baby.”

For the first time in almost twenty years, it didn’t sound disgusting to be called that. It made him cry harder.

“I never stopped looking, I swear. I just wasn’t good enough,” his dad said, his chest quaking. “I’m so sorry. I love you so much. I never should’ve let you go out that late. You were too little. I was a sheriff. I knew better.”

His dad was rambling and Stiles couldn’t breathe, but it was fine because his dad was a wall in front of him. Someone was hugging him other than Chris and he felt completely safe. Safer than Chris. Safer than being alone. It was the one person he had cried himself to sleep so often wanting.

“Stiles,” Chris said.

Stiles started to pull away, but his dad jerked, pulling Stiles roughly behind him. His handgun was out from under his jacket and into his hand in a second. Max barked, his ears flat to his head.

“Down,” Chris said with a slight tremble to his voice as he held up his free hand.

“Both hands up. If that fucking dog moves he’ll be dead before you,” his dad said in the most commanding voice he had heard in his life.

“No,” Stiles said, touching his arm, but his dad’s finger was already in the trigger guard. “He’s okay-”

“Who are you?” his dad demanded, staring at Chris. 

Then someone screamed. Stiles looked down the aisle behind him and saw a worker.

“Don’t call the police,” Chris yelled without looking away from John. “This is just a misunderstanding.”

“I-” the woman began.

“Sit on the ground and stay there,” Chris said.

His dad kept the gun leveled on Chris.

“Answer the question!”

“I didn’t take him,” Chris said. His pale blue eyes had never looked more earnest, like it hurt him that John could even think it. Like his heart was broken because John’s face was covered in tears and Stiles’s was worse. “John, I called in the tip about him.”

“What?” Stiles asked.

“You needed him, Stiles,” Chris said, still holding up his hands and keeping his eyes locked on John’s.

Stiles carefully moved in front of his dad. His eyes were so dark when he cried, like the red veins around them made the color deeper.

“Dad, please,” he said.

His dad lowered the gun, but kept it in his hand as he glanced over Stiles’s shoulder before looking back at him.

“Do you know where he lives?” his dad asked.

Stiles nodded.

“If you come back to my hotel tonight, you could take me there in the morning?”

“Yes,” Stiles said.

His dad swallowed hard before he completely lowered his gun.

Chris exhaled and dropped his hands. He was so pale, but he gesturing toward the door. 

"Go before the cops show up," Chris said. 

Stiles darted toward Chris, because he knew his dad would try to stop him. He felt his fingers brush his arm before he hugged Chris tightly. 

"I'll be home tomorrow." 

"Let us know how you are," Chris said, squeezing him like he was terrified of letting him go. 

Stiles hugged him back tightly before pulling away. Then his dad grabbed his shoulder and led him toward the door. Stiles's heart was pounding as he went with him out into the dark. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for the wait, guys. After I posted that chapter, my life fucking imploded. I also didn't expect this to go to 3 parts, but I kept writing on this and it just kept growing. This was supposed to be a shortish story, dammit!
> 
> Thank you guys for bearing with me. I really appreciate it. <3


End file.
